


All He Ever Wanted

by Xx_Astrid_xX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7877716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xx_Astrid_xX/pseuds/Xx_Astrid_xX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nearly a decade after the Battle of Hogwarts and Draco Malfoy, a deadbeat single father barely holding onto ties in the Wizarding world, just happens to run into Harry Potter, his old rival, with his friends and in the midst of a divorce with his best friend's sister. But, then, for no particular reason, Harry follows Draco to his flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All He Ever Wanted

Draco Malfoy took one last drag from his cigarette before letting it drop to the ground and grinding it with his too-expensive dress shoes.

"You know," he murmured to no one but himself. "For someone reduced to living in a muggle flat, getting paid next to nothing in a shitty ministry job," Draco glanced at himself in the old, crappy see-through bus stop plastic wall. "I still look like a rich kid,"

"-that Draco Malfoy?" an oddly familiar voice asked from behind him, one that Draco couldn't quite place, and he turned before growing neon in the lightless evening.

It was Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley, with his arm around Grang- no, that was a wedding band on her finger. Hermione Weasley.

Draco quickly looked away, so as to look like he hadn't heard them and was simply looking around. He'd fallen too far from grace to care if they had an opinion on him, here in this poor muggle town, taking a bus home.

They walked past him, Ron eyeing him, and sat inside the actual bus stop. Draco lit another cigarette.

Unfortunately, the bus wasn't scheduled for another half hour, and Draco's feet soon began to ache.

"Ron," Harry said a few minutes after they'd sat. "Do you have the bag with my takeout, or do I?"

Ron rummaged through a plastic bag until pulling out a fast food sandwich and chicken nuggets, which he handed to Harry.

"Stuff isn't good for you," Draco found himself saying. Harry, who sat on the other side of the booth- thing that Draco knew not the proper name of.

"I don't eat it often," Harry said, and through his peripherals Draco saw the green eyed boy- or, rather, man- watching him. He turned to look at them.

Hermione was closest to him, the girl he used to fancy. Her hair, once a deep chocolate, looked a bit lighter, a bit greyer. Her face was fast aging for a twenty seven year old, though she looked at oldest mid thirties and seemed quite happy. She wore a light pink sweater in the early fall chill, with a blue shirt peeking above it. Blue jeans too short on the legs showed older socks and newer sneakers. Her fingers were painted a nice autumny orange, and had what seemed to be a semi-expensive manicure. Her hair, while still frizzy, was done up. She looked like a middle class mom, and Draco supposed that she probably was.

Ron was in the middle, his red hair short, a small amount of facial hair making him seem somewhat more attractive. He wore just a blue polo and long, durable looking jeans, and manly boots. He, too, looked happy, and time had seemingly done him well. There were crows feet by his eyes, and somehow, he looked very fatherly to Draco. An expensive watch sat on his freckled wrist, and Draco could imagine Hermione with two or three little ones, picking out a nice new watch for Daddy's birthday. He kept his smile in his own mind.

And, finally, Harry Potter. His hair wasn't any shorter, nor any more tame, though it sat in a more tired, less offensive way. His glasses were the same, though to Draco's relief, held not the tape they once had. His face had changed, becoming rounder, his eyes more significant, a shadow of an unshaved beard dressed his cheeks, his nose looking like it'd been broken once or twice more in the years since Draco had last seen him. His face was softer, more gentle, like he did not, any longer, carry the stress he once had, and Draco found himself hoping that that was true. He wore a simple black t-shirt, too large for him as he'd always worn, under a familiar dark blue jacket with an even darker blue stripe around the waist, and he, too, wore jeans. Simple black sneakers adorned his feet. Had he not known it to be true, Draco would've never guessed that this boy was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the richest wizard from the world Draco could barely manage to stay a part of.

Draco didn't let his eyes linger on the man any longer, for he feared to realize he still had those strong, terrifying feelings for him. He didn't know, on a conscious level, that this was the reason his eye refused to stay locked with Harry's, and he didn't particularly want to know why his stomach was twisting and revolting in his abdomen. He hadn't eaten in, what, almost two days? He busied himself with lighting a cigarette while reminiscing on the days in which Mother would make him the best home cooked meals, whatever he fancied having that day. He, once again, found himself missing his parents, missing the Manor, missing his old life. But he'd made a resolution. This was his self-sentenced punishment for what he'd done and what he simply couldn’t be.

"That's not particularly good for you, either," Harry spoke up, motioning to his almost burned-out cigarette, and bringing Draco out of his thoughts. Draco got a small, amused grin; only, amusement wasn't the proper word. Self-deprecation? Resolve? Pain? Yes, those worked.

"Don't you know that you have a lot more to live for than me, Potter?" He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth, but he laughed it off, grinding his cigarette into the pavement.

"Why do you say that?"

Draco laughed again, this one truly being amused. His head rose up from it's usual spot, down, and he laughed, closed-eyed, to the colorless sky. Then, however, his head dropped slowly, the smile fading into a shadow of pain.

"I wonder," he whispered softly.

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. He was staring out in front of him, face an odd expression of someone who didn't know how to react. Hermione was staring at him with wide eyes, eyes full of what some people would call sympathy, and the exact thing Draco took as pity. He looked away before he could sneer. Him, Draco Malfoy, being pitied by a mudblood. In another life, he would've laughed. But here and now, he didn't have the energy.

It was silent between the four magical amigos until the late bus pulled up. Draco boarded first, wondering dryly to himself whether or not Harry would be checking out his bum.

Draco sat in the front. He would've preferred the back; however, as he was searching for some muggle money, Hermione paid for her, her husband and her friend, and Harry lead them to the back of the nearly empty bus.

So, Draco found a cozy spot in between them and the snoring old man two rows from the front. His seat was worn and scratchy, and he wished he'd just slept at Blaise's; however, Astoria, Draco's ex and Blaise's fiancee, had come home. Draco didn't particularly fancy her much anymore.

It was probably forty five minutes of staring emotionlessly out the window until Draco was nearly home. He got out quickly, pulling his suit jacket closed, and walked so quickly and thoughtlessly that he failed to notice someone following him.

He slipped into his apartment building, and up the steps towards the shittiest flat within flying distance of London. There were exactly two rooms; one room, maybe three meters by three meters, which served as a kitchen, dining room, living room and bedroom, and a meter by meter bathroom. He owned only a bed, a pillow, and a blanket, and had been more than thankful when the flat had come with an oven, sink, microwave, fridge and, unlike many other apartments he could've afforded, a shower and toilet.

"Draco," he heard as he fumbled with the key to his flat, and he startled, dropping the key and letting out a string of curses. Before he could process what had happened, other than him dropping his keys, Harry's black head dropped into his vision, and after a moment, Harry was but a handful of centimeters away, holding Draco's keys with an awkward smile.

"Potter?" Draco asked, having to look down probably the same distance as Harry was away from him. How long ago it was that Draco was a tad shorter than Harry.

"You can call me Harry, you know," He said.

Harry. It was so recent, to Draco, that Harry was calling him Malfoy and hating Draco's very guts, just as Draco had pretended to do to him.

And suddenly all those stray thoughts, those late night longings, those painful itching needs that plagued him still grabbed hold of him, and Draco took a step closer to Harry.

"Potter-" Draco gasped almost angrily, as Harry leaned back, obviously uncomfortable with the current situation.

And with that, Draco lost every ounce of courage he had just had. He stepped back, eyes closed, until he heard Harry unlocking the flat for him.

"May I come in?" Harry asked as Draco walked into his tiny flat.

"If you must," muttered Draco, examining the black carpet, grey walls, white cabinets and the clothes folded on the floor.

"How's Ginny?" asked Draco just to distract from his shitty cheerio sized apartment.

"Oh. We... We're not-" Harry looked away, turning his body slightly. "We're divorcing. She- she got the kids."

Draco looked quickly at Harry, pondering this.

"What are they like?" Draco managed after but a moment. "The children."

Harry laughed softly, sitting on the bed without permission. "Well, James is the oldest, he's five. He's very- bold. Silly. Bossy. He loves Quidditch. Albus, he's only three, but he's very smart. Lily, she's two, and she's very girly and quiet and easy to handle." Harry looked up at Draco. "What about you? Do you have..." Harry just glanced around the flat, suddenly pink in the cheeks.

"Yeah. Scorpius. He's, uh, three now. He lives with my mother and father, because I'm not a good father and Astoria... She just wants to forget me, I suppose." Draco smiled softly. "He looks like me."

Harry looked up at Draco, smiling slowly. It seemed as if both of them were searching for something to say, but neither of them really found anything, not for a while.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Draco finally managed. His hosting skills were so pitiable they weren't even close to subpar.

"I could do with some water, if you would," Harry said, watching as Draco got two classes from the cupboard and poured Harry some tap water, himself some scotch.

"Rough day?" Harry asked, sipping from the thick, short glass he'd received.

"Rough decade," laughed the host into his own glass before downing half of it, not taking notice to the taste or the sting.

"What happened to you, Malfoy?" Harry asked, and Draco let loose a dry, humorless, bitter laugh.

"I don't know, Potter." Draco smiled at the floor beneath Harry's feet. "I wish I knew."

Harry shifted uncomfortably before pulling Draco by the shirt sleeve, only a tentative tug. Draco blinked, downed the rest of his alcohol, and sat next to Harry.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry whispered, voice cracking.

Once again, Draco found himself laughing. "What ever for, Potter?" Suddenly, the bitterness from his Hogwarts years overloaded him, and when he managed to subside it, the look on Harry's face spoke enough.

"For that," His voice was gentle, but then, he gave a quiet laugh. "I hated you, too."

"I never hated you, Potter. Despised you? Maybe. Envied you? Wanted- well, I don't know what I wanted, but I never hated you."

Potter looked up as soon as Malfoy said 'wanted'. "You envied me?" He questioned, though it didn't seem to be his main question.

"You were perfect. The Chosen One, the Quidditch star, the good boy everyone loved. How could someone- especially someone like how I was- not be jealous of that?"

"How you were?" Harry looked confused, sad, and some other thing Draco was too tired to place.

"I've grown up, if only a slight bit." Draco was contemplating politely asking Harry to leave, so that he could sleep, when he felt a hand on his arm. To remove it, he pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it to the clothes basket.

"You seem much more grown up," Harry said, a bit of humor in his voice as he appraised Draco. Dimly, Draco pictured himself and imagined what Harry would be seeing.

His hair was shorter, once again slicked out of his face, and his eyes were the same old dull grey orbs, reminiscent of the smoke that came from his squares. His face was older, harsher, and more manly, and by now a light, hueless shadow would be forming on his cheeks. He was taller, though still quite thin, and despite the pain and maturity that now poisoned his face, Draco imagined Harry still saw the same old Malfoy he once had.

"Is that a compliment?" Draco asked, looking at Harry. Sitting down, they were about the same height. A brilliant smile overcame Harry's face, and Draco was struck with the same awkwardness that Harry had carried all through Hogwarts. The Boy Who Lived hadn't changed any.

"If you'd like it to be one," Harry said. Draco got a small smile and found his eyes wandering away from Harry once more. He'd developed an issue with eye contact, and bitterly he rubbed the Mark, the one ignorant muggles constantly complimented, when they saw it. How vile they were.

"I think I would," Draco said, voice barely audible. Harry's smile fell.

"Draco..."

"Don't"

"Don't what?"

"Just, don't."

Harry looked at Draco, almost desperate, before a familiar look, albeit one he’d never seen on his once-enemy, crossed Harry's face, one that the blonde didn't have time to process before soft, cool lips found his own. Draco sucked in air through his nose, eyes squeezing shut, as the raven haired man continued to kiss him, wet lips closing around Draco's unresponsive ones, Harry's hands moving to Draco's cheek, Draco's hair.

This was all he'd ever wanted; his only rival.

Finally, Draco found it in him to kiss the boy- man- back. He wrapped his arms around Harry, one around his waist, one on his upper back, bent up into his hair. Their tongues were like waves on a shore, their mouths moving in a way Draco’d never experienced, not even with the mother of his child.

They drank from each other, sloppily, desperately, needily. Draco somehow ended up lying beneath Harry, who moaned and groaned and gasped and whimpered. Draco stroked Harry’s back sensually, making him shiver, pushing his shirt up to his shoulders. Harry clutched onto Draco’s hips, grinding his nails desperately into the taller man’s flesh, much to Draco’s pleasure. He growled into Harry’s mouth and, in a far-away mind, wondered who’d be the catcher in this particular arrangement.

He soon found his answer when Harry rolled off of Draco, pulling the latter with him, and wrapped his legs around the same waist he continued to claw.

“How far can I go,” grumbled Draco a bit later, after he’d begun to throb against his pants. His voice was alien to himself, deep, guttural and needy.

“All the way,” breathed Harry, eyes almost as drunk as Draco’s. His green eyes were fluttering, and his hips were writhing gently under Draco. His chest expanded and deflated at an alarming rate, and his mouth was still half open. Draco got a small smile, straight from the heart, the kind where his eyes scrunched up and his heart tickled. He gently pulled off Harry’s glasses before pulling off his own shirt. Thin muscles, barely there, dressed his thin figure like knotted sinew under his skin. He gently pulled off Harry’s polo, laughing as it caught on his ear, and feeling his stomach flutter as Harry laughed, too. Harry- sheepishly- took hold of Draco’s belt and began to undo it.

“I’ve never- done- anything… With a guy.” Harry breathed, face suddenly full of anxiety and doubt.

“Me, either,” said Draco as Harry pushed his slacks down. Draco moved to the edge of the bed to remove his shoes, his socks, and his slacks, so he was left in only his pants, a deep navy blue, with a certain extremity fighting to be free. Then, he turned to see Harry in only what must be a pair of y-fronts, but looked a bit like knickers. They were bright red- almost pink, and Draco got a small smile… Until he noticed the socks still on Harry’s feet.

“Why’re you wearing socks still?”

“What?” Harry asked, then glanced down and shrugged. With a sigh, Draco moved to Harry’s feet and pulled off his socks. Luckily, for Draco, his feet weren’t gross or peculiar; in fact, they were almost cute, or at least as cute as feet could get.

“Nothing,” Draco grinned out before kneeling before Harry, who was on his back. “Do I need- lubricant?” Draco pondered.

“I’d bloody well think so,” Harry scoffed, causing Draco to laugh.

“Does saliva work for that? Or do I- I don’t have anything else…”

“Just…” Harry looked uncomfortable. “Do you have a pre-lubricated condom?”

“I don’t have any condoms,” Draco said with a frown. Harry sighed.

“Then, yeah- I reckon spit would work.”

Draco put his hands softly on Harry’s knees, a bit sad to see his partner’s erection waning. He stroked up Harry’s legs, feeling the hair brushing his hand in an odd way he’d never felt before, then whisked over his box, almost teasingly, and brushed over his hairless tummy, and over his gentle, skin colored nipples, to put his arms in between Harry’s body and his arms.

Harry’s chest had a bit of fuzz on it, his build on the thinner side of average, his skin on the tanner side of peach. Draco smiled, kissing Harry’s collarbone, as Harry’s hands found Draco hair and buried his fingers in it, finally destroying it. Draco kissed up Harry’s neck, to his mouth, and drank from him more until Harry was once again a rock against Draco’s lower abdomen, and once again a moaning, whimpering mess, then trailed down to his chest, paying just a bit of tongueless attention to the peaks standing out of his chest. He watched as Harry’s brow twisted, eyes closing, breathing sharply through his mouth, moaning and a bit unsure of whether or not he liked it. Draco continued to trail down, kissing sensually, more than a peck but without tongue. Slowly, as he trailed from Harry’s diaphragm down, he slipped off Harry’s pants, planning on kissing him there, too, but finding as he placed his mouth close that he had a very strong aversion to the erection. He swallowed, looking up at Harry as Harry breathed deeply, looking at his partner with a thick, needy desperation.

Draco let spit trail from his mouth to his partner’s extremity. He stroked it, finding that this didn’t disgust him, only made him a bit uncomfortable; but, his attraction to the boy was so strong, he didn’t mind. Harry tentatively took hold of Draco’s long, slightly thick member, uncircumcised, and smiled anxiously. 

“I don’t think we need lube if you’re- you know- uncut.”

“Oh,” Draco said, looking down. He spread Harry’s legs wider, found his aversion also did not allow him to touch Harry- back there. Draco’s face turned red, and he pulled back slightly, looking and thinking.

He liked girls. Draco’d always known that. So, then, how was he so attracted to Harry? He couldn’t even bring himself to touch him.

“Let me watch you,” He said. “Get yourself ready for me.” Harry blushed, looking away.

“I-I-” Harry swallowed. “I don’t want to.” He admitted.

“I don’t, either,” Draco allowed himself to confess. “I mean- I want to, like, be in you, but not… Not with my fingers.”

Harry laughed gently. “Then, just, do it,” Surprise filled Draco.

“Are you sure? It’s going to hurt…”

“Yes, Malfoy. Please, just get it done.” Harry was red in the face, so Draco nodded and put himself above Harry once more. He spits on his hand, then added it to the lubrication he’d already produced, and felt Harry grumble.

“I’m not a girl,” He said. “Don’t- I changed my mind. I need to be in some other position.”

Draco chuckled, pulling up, and Harry went onto his knees. After a moment, he sighed, and turned, dropping onto all fours.

“Are you ready now?” Draco asked, his hands finding a place on Harry’s stomach.

“Yeah,” said Harry after a moment. Slowly, Draco pushed against his opening, hearing Harry breathing in sharply through his teeth.

“Just tell me…” Draco said as his tip went into Harry, trying very hard not to slam in right away. “... If I need to stop.” After Harry stopped squeezing Draco, he pushed in all the way, to ready Harry before actually taking him.

“I’m ready,” whispered Harry a few minutes later. Draco began.

At first, it was nothing more than sex. But Harry started to whimper again, pressing back and doing- things- to Draco that the latter couldn’t even comprehend. He leaned forward then, holding his partner, and found that it was much more enjoyable that way. Soon, Draco lost himself, unable of coherent thought as he took the man he’d dreamed of before he fully understood what it was to dream of someone. Harry cried out often, soon collapsing on his elbows, a hand sliding back to grip Draco’s hair, holding him close. Draco pleased Harry with one hand, the other twisting at Harry’s nipples. Harry’s mouth found Draco’s, and with how overwhelmed the taller boy was, he simply followed Harry’s lead.

They finished together, something neither of them had done for a great while, and collapsed together, Draco scooting over so that he only half covered Harry, holding him tightly. He wedged part of his large blanket under them, to cover their mess, and enveloped them with the rest. Harry twisted slightly under Draco, and there they slept until long past the time both of them should’ve woken.


End file.
